


your hands are gravity;

by julek



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Come as Lube, Double Penetration, Exhibitionism, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, Title from Bite The Hand by boygenius, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julek/pseuds/julek
Summary: Lambert's a good friend — he keeps his eyes and hands to himself when he sees Aiden shamelessly flirt and disappear with various (and sometimes numerous) partners, never bats an eye at the prospect of his friend's sex life.That is, until Aiden invites him to watch.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden/Original Male Characters
Comments: 6
Kudos: 103





	your hands are gravity;

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scarlett_Rogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Rogue/gifts).



The thing is, Lambert’s known Aiden for quite a while. They’ve worked on particularly difficult contracts together more times than either of them can count, have drunk themselves into oblivion on starless nights after sharing some rabbit stew, have seen each other curse and spit and scream and kill. 

They know each other well.

Too well, Lambert might argue, as he’s been privy to some of Aiden’s unabashed flirting —directed, obviously, not at him— in-between contracts, when the brothels are sparse and coin is tight, and Aiden’s found someone that catches his eye. It doesn’t happen much, and when it does, Lambert is oddly quiet about Aiden’s partners, not teasing or making comments of a lewd nature as he would were this someone else. He’s not even sure why he’s chosen to be so respectful all of a sudden, but there’s something like curiosity and amusement in Aiden’s green-eyed gaze when Lambert bites his tongue as he slips away from their table, his hand linked to another.

Besides, it’d be rude to say anything about Aiden’s choices when Lambert’s not so innocent himself — tumbling into bed with whoever’s willing at any given chance and cutting straight to the chase, not bothering to learn names or dreams or life stories. Witchers aren’t allowed to lose themselves in their desires, not allowed to want; sex is a necessity and Lambert won’t indulge in it more than it is necessary — even when he could, even when there are hopeful gazes and timid smiles that greet him whenever he sits down in the corner of a tavern, the scent of lust clouding the air. 

So Lambert keeps his mouth shut. He averts his eyes when Aiden sits across from him, perched on the town’s blacksmith's lap, as he toys with the laces of his breeches. He sits still when they’re playing a round of Gwent and Aiden’s hand has disappeared under one of the barmaid’s skirts, a smirk curling his lips. He even has the courtesy to leave the room to Aiden for as long as he needs to, and doesn’t frown when Aiden comes back down smelling of sex and sweat, his hair disheveled and his cheeks bright. 

He’s a good friend. 

Like now, as he makes pleasant conversation with the two men sitting down at his table, ignoring the way they’ve squeezed Aiden into the middle of the bench. He’s still in his armor, and Lambert thinks that’s what the men are after — leather and rust, and the sculpted and warm body that lies hidden underneath it. He can see Aiden squirm in his seat, both his hands pressed into the men’s thighs.

“You know, Torkel and I have been traveling for a long time,” one of the men —Einar, he’s learned— says to Lambert, his beard covered in foam, “and we’ve never come across any other Witchers. How come?”

As he speaks, Einar’s hand moves lower, starts tracing lines up Aiden’s knee. 

Lambert follows the motion with his eyes, then realizes his mouth is hanging open and focuses on the question instead. He clears his throat. “There’s few of us left,” he says, reaching for his tankard. 

“Hmm.” Torkel reaches for his mug too, looking straight into Lambert’s eyes. He takes Aiden’s face in his hand and gently traces his jawline, not breaking eye contact. “And are you all as pretty as this one?” 

Lambert chokes into his ale. He tries to cover it up with a cough, but there’s no mistaking the glint in Aiden’s eyes as the two men shower him in praise. Lambert had heard a few of Aiden’s friends were in town —in fact, Aiden had been eager for him to meet them— and he’d foolishly assumed they were the usual kind of friends Aiden had referred to. He hadn’t expected this; hadn’t expected to see Aiden drop his guard with such ease and trust. 

He sees Aiden suck Torkel’s thumb into his mouth with enthusiasm and feels the air being punched out of his lungs. He grips the edge of the table to ground himself, takes a few breaths, and starts gathering his things. 

“It seems you’ve business to attend to,” he says, nodding his head to Aiden, who’s busy sucking bruises into Einar’s neck. Strapping his sword to his back, he stands up. “I’ll be in the room.”

Coin had been particularly low the past few weeks, and they couldn’t afford two separate rooms like they normally would. It’d be fine, though — Lambert wouldn’t even hear Aiden come in, wouldn’t smell his scent tainted with the rough musk of his _friends_. 

“Ah, actually,” Aiden speaks up for the first time, and his voice comes out ragged. “They’re not staying the night. We’re using it.”

Lambert raises one eyebrow, feeling annoyance coiling in his gut. “No, you’re not. I’m tired as fuck, and it’s my room too. Find some fucking hay, do it on the woods, I don’t care.”

He turns around to leave when he hears Aiden chuckle, glancing between the two men around him. “Or,” he says, his voice reduced to a low rumble, “you could stay and watch.”

No training in the frozen courtyards of Kaer Morhen could have ever prepared Lambert’s body for the way Aiden’s words slip into his mind, making the hair at his nape rise at the thought of it, reaching inside and lighting a burning fire that runs through his veins like a shot of White Gull. He’s suddenly assaulted by a thousand different images filling his mind: Aiden laying face-down while big, strong hands press his face as they fuck him into the mattress; thick rope tying him down, his cock hard and flushed pink as they work four fingers into his hole; Aiden, his mouth hanging open, waiting for someone to fill it up with come. He can almost hear Aiden’s moans spilling from his lips, can almost picture him afterward, wrecked and marked and utterly, thoroughly fucked-out, the perfect image of debauchery.

And how could Lambert say no, when Aiden asked him so nicely? He’d be in his room and he’d get to watch his friend get off, which isn’t offensive by any means — hell, he might even get off too. It’s a no brainer, when he really thinks about it. 

By the time he’s made up his mind, Aiden and his friends are climbing the stairs up to their shared room. He scrambles to follow, leaves a few coins on their table, and shoots an apologetic gaze to the innkeeper, who’d been watching the whole scene unfold with an understandable mix of fear and curiosity. 

He reaches the room and sees the door’s been left ajar; he pushes it gently and finds Aiden, Torkel and Einar staring at him impatiently. He debates leaving his sword by the door after locking it but decides against it, instead taking it with him and settling it next to the worn velvet chair he perches on. 

“We don’t bite,” Einar says playfully, turning to look at Aiden, who’s already shrugging out of his armor. “Not unless you want us to.”

“D’ya come as a package deal?” Lambert chuckles and attempts to roll the tension off his body, but the heat simmering in his gut picks up when he sees Aiden’s legs wrapped around Torkel’s waist, his back to the wall as their mouths meet for a bruising kiss, teeth clashing. Lambert sits back on the chair trying to get comfortable, but his half-hard cock presses against his breeches, and he has to swallow down a groan. 

He watches as Einar takes what’s left of Aiden’s armor off him just as Torkel moves them to the bed, splaying Aiden on his back. His naked body is littered with stretch marks and scars, some shallow, some deep; there’s a line Lambert’s always thought of tracing with his finger on hot summer nights when Aiden sleeps with no shirt on, the one that crosses over his left shoulder down to the space between his shoulder blades. His skin glows golden brown in the firelight and there’s sweat pooling at his temples, his hair already a mess, dark brown falling in wavy strands against the linen pillows. Lambert’s breath catches in his throat when his eyes meet Aiden’s, pupils blown with lust.

Aiden’s friends waste no time stripping out of their clothes, and in a matter of seconds, Torkel’s kneeling on the bed between Aiden’s legs. He bends down and licks a stripe up Aiden’s leaking cock, wringing a low whine from his throat. Aiden fists his hair in Torkel’s hair, controlling his pace, and Lambert’s cock jerks at the sight. He grips the armchair hard, his knuckles turning white as Torkel presses his nose against Aiden’s stomach, choking before coming back up, Aiden’s grip on his hair relentless.

There’s something about watching Aiden that makes his insides riot — something about the way he tilts his head back, his eyes squeezed shut; something about the noises he makes, the words that turn into moans with the swirl of Torkel’s tongue, and Gods, Lambert wishes it was him, wringing out those sounds one by one. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aiden slurrs, “fuck, that’s—so good. Fuck me, one of you. Any of you.”

Torkel comes off his cock with a wet sound, and moves to his side to let Einar kneel beside him. His fingers are slick with oil, and he presses one inside, carefully looking for resistance. Lambert’s breath hitches when Aiden grabs Einar’s hand and presses two fingers inside, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he fucks himself on his hand. _You like it rough_ , Lambert thinks but doesn’t say as he feels his cock straining against his breeches, and reaches down to undo the buttons, never looking away from Aiden’s body.

Aiden takes Einar’s fingers like he’ll die without them, like the emptiness will wrap around his heart and prevent it from beating. He’s moaning and panting by the time Einar makes it an even four, and lets out a broken _please_ that makes Lambert bite his lip until he feels the bitter taste of copper on his tongue. 

Einar fucks Aiden in one clean thrust, and because he takes him on his back, Lambert can only see the way Aiden wraps his legs around Einar’s waist, locks his arms around his neck and mutters for him to go faster, _harder._ His scent is strong and heady, leather and sweat flooding Lambert’s senses as he wraps his hand around himself through his trousers. He strokes himself slowly, dragging it out.

" _Gods_ , there, f—right there,” Aiden moans, running his hand through Torkel’s thigh, feeling his cock harden under his caress. “Fuck, ah—stop, wait.”

Einar stills, looking up at Aiden expectantly. 

“I want you,” he says, patting Torkel’s thigh, and before Einar can pull out, he tightens his legs around him. Tilting his head, he meets Lambert’s eyes across the room. “With him, I want—I want both.”

Lambert’s head spins.

Everything’s too much, too much and _not enough_ , and he pulls his trousers off and takes his cock in his hand, groaning in relief as he strokes himself with purpose. He can see Torkel and Einar get in position out of the corner of his eye, can hear them slick their cocks with oil, but he’s only got eyes for Aiden. Aiden, who’s kneeling on the bed, eyes unfocused with pleasure, as he toys with his balls, pressing a finger inside himself as Torkel lays on his back, reaching his hands out to guide Aiden onto his cock. He hisses as he lowers himself, and Einar’s right behind him, stretching him with his fingers.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Aiden pants, clenching around Torkel’s cock and Einar’s fingers, and it’s _too much_. “Fuck, get in me, now.”

Lambert bites his lip at the order, reaching down to squeeze his balls. He doesn’t want to come yet, not without seeing Aiden first, not without hearing the sound he makes when he’s got both—

“ _Motherfucker!_ ”

Einar presses his forehead against Aiden’s sweat-lined back, groaning as Aiden rides them both with fierce intent. “Fuck, kitten, you feel _so good_.”

Torkel moans in agreement, thrusting up, sliding across Einar. Suddenly, Aiden presses his hands flat against his chest, bouncing up and down with a punishing pace, moaning and cursing with every thrust. Lambert can see the glint in his eyes, a flush creeping up his neck, and suddenly his moans turn into broken sounds, and oh — those Lambert knows very well. He’s heard them through adjacent thin walls, in dense forests, in dark nights and early mornings. He knows, and Aiden confirms.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, his voice barely there, like he’s been saying all night long, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—don’t you dare come before I do.”

Einar reaches around and wraps his hand around Aiden’s length, messily smearing precome as Aiden’s thrusts become more ragged, less coordinated. He strokes once, twice, and Aiden shouts as he comes in thick ropes over Torkel’s chest, and that seems to tip them over the edge as well. 

They fuck him through the aftershocks, coming inside him with a well-coordinated moan. Aiden slumps over Torkel’s chest, burying his face in his neck. Slowly, Einar pulls out, stopping to admire his and Torkel’s come trickling out of Aiden’s pink hole, and gently lifts Aiden by the hips so that he can lie down on the bed, too. The three of them lie next to each other for a moment, and when Aiden’s caught his breath, he sits up, clearing his throat.

“You’ve got a long journey ahead, fellas, I’m sure. Lambert will see you off,” he says, and winks at him. 

Lambert, whose hard and unsatisfied cock has returned to the confines of his breeches, stands up as if on cue, motioning for the men to gather their clothes and get out of his room. They exchange confused but resigned glances and leave, barely clothed. Lambert closes the door behind him with a grunt, and locks it.

Aiden’s leisurely lounging on the bed, arms behind his head, and if Lambert didn’t know any better he’d say he looks smug. He does, in fact. Incredibly smug and self-satisfied, a smirk on his spit-slick lips. 

“Enjoyed the show, Wolf?”

Lambert squares his jaw and sets his shoulders, and despite the prominent and very obvious bulge that’s desperate to escape his trousers, he shrugs. _Of course I did_ , he wants to say, wants to know all the ways to bring Aiden to tears that betray his assured self, wants to find out what makes him groan and sigh and moan and _come_. He wants to know.

Aiden clicks his tongue, rolling on his stomach.

“Well, it’s a shame, you know,” he says, running a lazy hand up his thigh, and then higher, almost reaching his hole. “I was going to ask you to help me clean up.”

With a disappointed sigh, he turns his gaze away, resting his head on his crossed arms. And well, that just won’t do.

In two quick strides, Lambert reaches the bed, grabbing Aiden by an ankle and moving him toward himself. Aiden lets out a gasp of surprise, but it’s immediately cut off by the most obscene sound Lambert’s ever heard.

“Fuck, Lambert,” he cries as Lambert greedily laps at his hole, feeling the taste of come on his tongue. He moves slowly, pressing small kisses to his lower back when he reaches it, then mouthing lazily at his balls when he comes back down. Aiden’s ass is covered with come and he’s still leaking, humping the mattress underneath him. Lambert pulls back.

“You’re such a slut,” Lambert says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and Aiden _keens_. “You set me up—you wanted me to see you with them.”

“I did,” he rasps, shuddering when Lambert spread his cheeks, when he feels his hot breath on his hole. “I wanted you to see _me_.”

Lambert huffs a laugh. “And now you’re getting hard again, hm?” he runs a finger down Aiden’s crack. “You’re insatiable,” he says, and moves back down.

Lambert presses small kisses to the inside of Aiden’s thigh, then sucks down hard on the spot where his thigh meets his cheek, teeth and tongue marking him down. He can’t stop for a moment to appreciate just how beautiful Aiden looks, what the sight of him throwing his head over his shoulder to watch Lambert does to him, his green eyes drunk on pleasure. His hole is still loose as Lambert slips his tongue inside and fucks him with shallow thrusts — Aiden meets him, arching his back and moaning a string of what could have been curses but are now incoherencies. His cock aches and he’s about to come in his trousers for the second time tonight when Aiden’s voice takes on a pleading tone.

“Lam—oh _fuck_ , Lambert,” he says, his voice almost gone entirely hoarse, “fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

Aiden looks at him, hunger written on his expression. “Want you to come inside me,” he breathes, “I wanna feel it come out of me all day long, I—Need you to mark me. _Please_.”

Whatever small amount of self-restraint Lambert had been stubbornly holding onto flies out of the window because when he hears Aiden beg he knows he’ll never forget it. He hastily tears his trousers off, not bothering to take off his boots, and moves around Aiden to get the oil when a hand on his wrist stops him. 

“What?” he hears himself say.

“I’m ready,” Aiden says with resolve, “I can still feel their come in me. I only want yours.”

Lambert realizes, somewhat belatedly, that he could come from Aiden’s words alone. He wraps his hand around his length and gives it a few strokes, then reaches and turns Aiden around, facing him. He takes him by the hips and thrusts in, the wet heat of Aiden’s hole threatening to overwhelm him, and presses his forehead against Aiden’s. He sets a steady pace, burying himself to the hilt, and when he looks up Aiden is staring at him, his gaze hot and hypnotic — Lambert finds himself looking back, looking at his hair and his eyes and his mouth, and then he’s struck with the realization that he hasn’t even kissed him.

Their mouths clash together in a mess of teeth and tongue and Aiden’s moaning against his lips and Lambert feels like he might die on the spot — then Aiden starts kissing his neck, mouthing at his jaw and running his hands through his hair, holding on when Lambert’s thrusts turn desperate and deep, dragging across his prostate every single time. 

“Fuck, Aiden,” he pants, burying his face in Aiden’s neck, dragging his teeth over his collarbones, and wraps his hand around Aiden’s cock, now fully hard. It takes him four strokes to come over his chest and Lambert’s hand, loudly moaning a curse that sounds suspiciously like _Lambert_.

He fucks him through his orgasm, Aiden’s legs swung over his shoulders, and he can feel blinding heat burning in his gut, can feel his pleasure come to a peak — and the Aiden bites his shoulder hard and clenches around him, and Lambert’s coming inside him in long spurts, covering him with his scent, marking him.

Lambert rests his body against Aiden’s chest, and when his breath evens out, he pulls out, admiring the way Aiden’s puffy hole is gleaming with spit and come. He presses a kiss to Aiden’s cheek before sitting up, taking his clothes off and throwing them in a heap onto the wooden floor. He pads over to the dresser where there’s a pitcher and then rummages through his pack to look for a clean cloth and healing salve.

When he turns back, Aiden’s lightly snoring. Lambert snorts, shaking his head in fond exasperation, and sits next to him on the bed, gently patting his cheek. 

“Hey,” he whispers when he finds a pair of green eyes blinking blearily at him. “Stay awake for a second, let me take care of you.”

“I think you just did,” Aiden murmurs, but spreads his limbs and lets Lambert work.

He gently wipes the worst off Aiden’s stomach, moving to his inner thighs and between his cheeks. Discarding the cloth, he applies some salve directly onto Aiden’s skin, dark red where thumbs had pressed hard into his hips, his thighs, his hole. Lambert’s about to rub the mark his teeth had left —now deep purple and bruising— when Aiden mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?” Lambert asks, his warm hands rubbing soothing circles on Aiden’s lower back.

“Leave it,” Aiden whispers. “Wanna keep yours.”

Lambert’s stomach flutters, not with unrestrained lust and desperation this time, but with something much deeper — something that tugs at his heartstrings and ignites some primal feeling in him, the sudden urge to protect, to wrap himself around Aiden and never let go. 

He hums a response and by the time he’s done, Aiden’s dozing off again. Lambert props him up on one of the pillows —the one that’s not been discarded on the floor— and fetches him some water. When Aiden’s tucked under the blankets, Lambert looks for his bedroll. He hears Aiden click his tongue.

“Lam, what’re you doing?”, he rumbles, “come to bed.”

Lambert shrugs and gets under the blankets, and every thought of keeping a prudent distance is forgotten when he feels Aiden wrap himself around his body, burying his face in Lambert’s neck. His arms are warm as he presses them to Lambert’s chest, their legs tangled together under the covers. Because he can’t help it, Lambert presses a soft kiss to Aiden’s forehead, and it’s different — different from the bites and messy kisses they’d shared. It’s intimate, entirely mindless and absolutely self-indulgent; the exact opposite of Lambert’s intentions. Still, he can’t find it in himself to pull away. 

As the fire burns down to embers, Lambert wonders what this all means. He’s not sure it’s a surprise, really — he feels that maybe, deep down, this was inevitable, falling into bed with Aiden. They’d known each other for long enough for Aiden to realize that Lambert’s sharp tongue and biting comments were more bark than bite; for Lambert to realize that no matter what came, Aiden didn’t fret easily and wouldn’t run at the first sight of trouble. What comes as a surprise, almost an afterthought, is the warmth that splays over Lambert’s chest and brings a tiny smile to his lips. He decides it’s okay, he wants it to stay. He wants him to stay. 

They lie in each other’s arms for a while, and Lambert’s about to fall asleep when he feels something against his side, and then a low, rumbling sound. He lifts his head from the pillow and looks down at Aiden: his mouth is hanging slightly open, his hair mussed and impossibly soft against his skin, and he’s purring with contentedness. Lambert traces the side of his arm with his finger, and is asleep by the time he reaches the tip of the scar that sits high on Aiden’s shoulder. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! find me on [tumblr](http://julek.tumblr.com/) <3.


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